


with every move my whole world shakes

by tmylm



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Bechloe AU, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, New Year's Eve, Strangers to Lovers, bechloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm
Summary: Beca hates NYE. She’s also not a big fan of getting stuck in elevators with strangers, though, so clearly nothing is going right for her this year.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 27
Kudos: 214





	with every move my whole world shakes

**Author's Note:**

> Fic based on Elise and Randy's story in the movie New Year's Eve (2011).
> 
> Title from Demi Lovato's _Lightweight_.

Despite how sour her outlook may (correctly) seem at present, in reality, Beca Mitchell truly was not always this way. No, maybe she has never particularly _loved_ parties—even as a college student, Beca was never the most fond of hitting up the drunken gatherings that would happen seemingly every single weekend at Barden University, despite the fact that she would generally attend anyway to keep her more persistent friends off her back—but she could always appreciate the significance of a good New Year’s Eve celebration. Beca could recognize the unmatched comradery of the entire world coming together, even from separate locations, separate _time zones_ , to eventually welcome in the new year as one mismatched whole. It is a huge phenomenon that Beca just...she _gets_ it.

To see her now, of course, large trash bag clutched in one hand while the other works quickly at tearing down the many decorations adorning the otherwise dull apartment building walls, she is sure it is very easy to beg to differ.

And it is not like Beca is specifically trying to ruin anybody else’s fun here; it is already mid-afternoon, she is positive that everybody is already busy preparing to scatter from the building and toward their pre-planned parties—or to Times Square to watch the ball drop; this _is_ New York City, after all—anytime now, so she is confident that nobody will actually miss the obnoxiously bright decorations.

Of course, she is just one woman—one small, small woman—so it would be unrealistic for her to hit up every single floor, but removing the in-her-face reminders where possible (namely the building’s sixth floor on which she resides, followed by the ground floor lobby she is sure she will have to walk through at some point later today) is relatively easily done, and the bitter part of Beca feels much better as she trudges toward the dimly lit elevator in pursuit of her second destination.

Admittedly, Beca is incredibly guilty of exuding a certain level of grumpiness at the best of times—life really has treated her somewhat unkindly in more recent years, after all—so it is really not exactly out of the ordinary for her to stare down at her old sneakers as she hears the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling out to her, rather than actually acting on its urgently delivered request to _“hold the elevator!”_

It is only in response to the sound of an exasperated sigh, a jangle of the rusted, outdated gate beyond the automatic doors, that Beca eventually lifts her curious gaze to meet the sight of an unfamiliar woman dressed far more appropriately for December thirty-first than she is, and looking somewhat annoyed as she shoots a heated glare Beca’s way.

“You could’ve just held it,” the red-haired stranger snaps, and it is at that point that Beca takes in the almost unnatural brightness to her stunningly blue gaze, even with the bitter look contorting her pale features.

A part of her cannot help but feel slightly guilty, though with her current mood and her disdain for the time of year, it is a fleeting feeling, and Beca is soon nonchalantly shrugging a shoulder. “My bad. You made it in here, didn’t you?” she points out, and earns herself another brief glare in response, before the redhead moves her focus to the elevator buttons, manicured finger pushing at the one below the peeling label previously stating _lobby_.

Taking her attire into account—not only are her fingernails painted a bright, sparkly red color, Beca can see a similarly shaded short red dress peeking out from beneath her black leather jacket, and a subtle scan of her side profile shows neatly applied party-appropriate makeup; it is a stark contrast to Beca’s current ensemble of old black and white checkered pajama pants and a mismatched, oversized gray sweatshirt—she definitely does not share Beca’s distinct dislike for the holiday. Like most people, she is sure this person is headed to some celebration or other, and that, in turn, Beca’s decidedly less than friendly display only a moment ago will soon be forgotten.

It seems, however, as Beca catches sight of the softening look in the other woman’s eyes, the way her shoulders seem to slump slightly, she is not the only one quietly questioning their own behavior.

“I’m sorry about...that,” the redhead says in a much softer tone than before as the elevator finally begins to descend. “Snapping at you just now, I mean. I’m just a little stressed today, and—”

The stranger does not get the chance to finish her sentence, nor does Beca get to lift a brow and tell her it’s okay and that she definitely does not need to apologize, because the feeling of a sharp jerking motion seems to halt them both in their tracks, before the slowly moving elevator ceases its descent altogether.

“Did we just…” The redhead begins, and Beca can see a distinct look of panic overtaking her rapidly crumpling features. “Oh, my God, no. This cannot be happening.” She pauses to jab her finger into the lobby button again… then again... but nothing happens. “No, no, no,” she whines almost desperately, “Not today. Come _on_.”

This was always a childhood fear of Beca’s, getting stuck inside of an elevator. Evidently, it is something she has grown out of over time—either that or her bitter mood outweighs the fear—because there is a certain level of calmness, of _carelessness_ settling within her at present. Again, it is a stark contrast to the other person with whom she is currently sharing the caged metal box.

While Beca only leans back against the bars, casually dropping the bag of discarded decorations onto the ground beside her, her unwitting companion frantically grasps at the outdated wall phone, pressing it quickly to her ear.

“Hello?” she speaks into the receiver in a panicked tone, and whether she gets a response or not, Beca doesn’t know. “Hello? My name is Chloe Beale, I live in apartment 6C, and I’m stuck in the elevator with…” she trails off, evidently realizing nobody is actually there to hear her, and her sad gaze slowly drifts toward Beca. “This doesn’t work, does it?” she questions with defeatedly slumping shoulders, and Beca responds with something of a twisted frown.

“Probably not,” she says uncharacteristically gently, “Nothing around here works.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” the other woman—Chloe, apparently—says through gritted teeth, and proceeds to hang the phone back with mild force onto its hook.

Beca’s frown remains in place as she watches Chloe’s hand dipping into her over-the-body purse, out of which she eventually produces an iPhone. “I doubt you’ll have service in here,” she says unhelpfully, and judging by Chloe’s exasperated groan as she stares at her screen, Beca is absolutely right.

“I really need this to not be happening right now,” Chloe pouts, dropping her phone lazily back into her purse in a way that shows Beca she has now deemed it entirely useless.

It is really not like Beca to converse with strangers, especially not at New Year’s when all she wants is to hide out in her apartment with the cat she isn’t actually supposed to have there, but there is something about this particular stranger, something that Beca can’t quite put her finger on, that has her wanting to keep her engaged. Perhaps it is the fact that she is sure Chloe will likely combust at some point if not, judging by the look of panic written all over her face. Her very pretty face, Beca silently notes.

(It is a thought she mentally kicks herself for right after.)

“Big party to get to?” Beca questions in a vague attempt to offer some kind of comfort. Her fingertips stroke over the faded fabric of her sleeve as her folded arms rest somewhere near her middle, and Beca realizes she is subconsciously comforting herself, too.

“No,” Chloe responds with a small shake of her head, finger jabbing with a little less urgency into the lobby button, although they both know it is not going to work. “Not a party. I just...I have somewhere I really need to be.”

Times Square ball drop, then, Beca thinks.

“What do we do? Do we just…” Chloe pauses, finally removing her finger from the button. “Wait it out? Someone will notice it stopped working eventually, right?”

“Eventually,” Beca nods, though her agreement does not seem to settle Chloe’s panic very much. “I mean, I’m sure we’re not stuck in here forever,” she adds in a half-hearted attempt at reassurance. “Like you said, someone will notice.”

“Right,” Chloe relents, sinking back defeatedly against the bars behind her. “I really hope they notice soon. I just…” she sucks in a breath, “Really have to be somewhere.”

The echoed statement has Beca wondering if she should probe for further information, if Chloe perhaps _wants_ her to, but she eventually decides against it, and instead simply nods her head. The fingers stroking at the fabric of her sleeve pause to instead shove the baggy cuffs further up her arm.

“It’s kind of hot in here, huh?” Chloe frowns, hands lifting to clutch at her leather jacket, until she can smoothly peel the garment off.

And Beca doesn’t mean to stare, doesn’t mean for her sight to pull toward the way the shiny red fabric of Chloe’s dress hugs the smooth curves of her waist, but she cannot help herself. With her fiery red curls, long enough that they cascade somewhere between her boobs and her navel, and those ethereally bright blue eyes, Chloe Beale is easily the most attractive, most physically captivating person Beca has ever encountered. So, she doesn’t mean to gawk, but she realizes that she is only when Chloe’s voice cuts into her daze, and effectively forces Beca’s jaw up from the floor.

“You’re throwing your own party tonight?” Chloe questions in an evident effort to make conversation. Beca follows the motion of her head toward the trash bag dumped down beside her on the floor. The cheap white plastic is pretty much see-through, and Beca glances downward to see the distinct shapes of New Year’s Eve decorations pressing to the sides.

It is a fair assumption, an innocent enough question, but for some reason, the very implication of Beca wanting absolutely anything to do with New Year’s Eve causes her to immediately freeze up, for her previous guard to rise protectively around her once again.

“No,” she scoffs in response, “New Year’s is stupid, it’s just another day. People who go crazy over it are stupid…” she pauses then, brow lifting as she does a quick, intentional sweep of Chloe’s outfit. “No offense.”

Although Chloe’s lips, painted the same red color as her nails minus the sparkles, press into a thin line in response, she proceeds to shake her head. “None taken.” Her gaze drifts toward the bag again, and a look of confusion creases onto Chloe’s face. “Then what’s with all of the party stuff?”

“Just didn’t feel like seeing it all over the building,” Beca shrugs in response, and makes a point of actively _not_ physically seeking out Chloe’s reaction.

She can hear the judgment in her voice as she responds, anyway.

“Wow… Someone really screwed you over on New Year’s Eve, huh?” Chloe frowns, to which Beca simply scowls, and it is clear that Chloe sees the expression. She responds with a wrinkled nose and a quick roll of her eyes. “Let me guess,” Chloe pauses briefly, manicured finger tapping at her chin in thought. “Boyfriend dumped you on New Year’s Eve… No, he kissed someone else right as the ball dropped. And now he’s ‘stupid’,” she air-quotes the word, “and New Year’s Eve is stupid, and everyone who actually dares to enjoy it is stupid, too.” Her glare narrows in on Beca, and Beca holds back her amusement—so much for ‘no offense taken’, she thinks. “Right?”

Beca doesn’t respond, so Chloe looks at her with raised brows, head tilting in a wordless urge for her to confirm her not-so-wild assumptions.

Normally, Beca hates telling this story. She hates the reminder, and she _hates_ the sympathetic looks she has to deal with in response, but there is something about the smug look on Chloe’s face, the way she is evidently just so _sure_ she has Beca all figured out, that gives Beca a sick sense of satisfaction as she responds flatly, “My grandmother died. New Year’s Eve, three years ago.”

Instantly, Chloe’s face falls, and Beca’s fleeting satisfaction quickly melts away, because Chloe, wide-eyed and disbelieving, suddenly looks like a kicked puppy, and Beca doesn’t know her, doesn’t have any reason to care about her feelings, but she instantly feels like a total dick.

And it is stupid really, it is so, so stupid, because Chloe is the one to have started this, Chloe is the one to have made a snap judgment, but Beca just...she can’t help it. She doesn’t know what it is about this woman, but already, Beca knows that she hates the very idea of her being sad, hates being the cause of that honest to God upset look on her face.

“Oh…” Chloe finally says, voice much quieter now. Slowly, she nods her head, and Beca briefly does the same. Beca normally hates that sympathetic look, the one Chloe is currently pinning her with, but there is something so sincere in it this time, something that makes Beca almost _appreciate_ it for the first time ever, she cannot help but want to reassure her.

“It’s fine,” Beca offers, shoulder shrugging gently as she accepts the fact that they are likely going to be here for a while, and proceeds to slowly lower to the ground where she hopes she’ll be a little more comfortable. She sits with her back pressed to the bars, feet tucked against her body and knees arched to wrap her arms around them. Chloe stays where she is. “She was sick. Like, really sick. It wasn’t like it was a shock or anything.”

“No,” Chloe says quietly, apologetic expression fixed dutifully in place. “But that’s not the point. I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have judged you like that.” She looks thoroughly embarrassed as she adds, “Like I said, I’m really stressed today, but that doesn’t excuse that. I really am sorry.”

While Beca nods in response, she chooses not to draw anymore attention to the incredibly morbid topic—for once, it is not just because she doesn’t want to think about it; more so, she doesn’t want Chloe to continue feeling as terrible as she seems to be. “Where do you have to be?” she asks in an effort to change the subject. There is also the fact that Beca actually wants to converse with this person, but she chooses to ignore that. She is sure it is simply her own sadness manifesting itself in a weird, uncharacteristic way.

“Um, Times Square,” Chloe responds, again looking somewhat embarrassed. It is almost as if she thinks her own thing is much smaller than Beca’s now. And Beca doesn’t want her to feel that way, doesn’t want her to feel whatever negativity she is feeling, but she chooses not to say so, so Chloe proceeds to fill in the brief silence. “I’m a backup singer, I actually just moved here specifically for this gig.”

At that, Beca’s gaze rises, eyebrow lifting in accordance. “You sing?”

“Backup,” Chloe corrects with a short nod of her head. “It’s kind of a career change. I used to be a music teacher, but I wanted to… I don’t know, actually perform. Emily Junk is performing at the big event tonight, and somehow I managed to land a backup part with her. This is definitely the biggest thing I’ve ever done,” Chloe chuckles quietly as if registering the understatement, though she trails off into a small frown. “Or it will be, if we make it out of here in time.”

It is easier now for Beca to understand Chloe’s prior urgency, her initial level of panic. In fact, given the subject at hand, Beca is pretty sure she understands it even more deeply than Chloe will actually realize.

“Emily Junk, huh?” Beca echoes, brows raising in pleasant surprise. Given her job, currently as a songwriter, Beca stays in tune with the music scene, she knows what a big deal the young performer is. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Right?” Chloe questions, and Beca notes the way her eyes light up seamlessly, notices a childlike excitement in them that Beca only wishes she could ever feel herself these days. Chloe catches herself quickly, though, schooling her expression into something a little calmer, and Beca wonders why.

She has never met Chloe Beale before today, but already Beca can tell that she is something of an extrovert. She doesn’t want her to feel like she has to squish it down… It is perhaps that thought that has Beca so willing to share her own story, she realizes as the memories tick a little too loudly over in her mind.

There are two things Beca makes a point of never talking about: her grandmother’s passing, and her own failed music career. She has already brought up the former, though, so she supposes she can forgive herself for mentioning the latter now, too.

“I used to sing,” Beca says before she can stop herself, and immediately she notices the way Chloe’s bright eyes seem to lighten all over again. “Or I mean, kind of. It didn’t really work out, but…” she trails off with a small shrug.

It is Chloe’s turn to lower into a seated position now, like she is eagerly awaiting storytime. Her leather jacket, previously hung casually over her bare arm, is laid down neatly on the floor, before Chloe perches herself comfortably on top of it. Her dress is too short for her to sit in the same position as Beca, but she stretches out her legs in front of her and looks comfortable enough. “Why didn’t it work out?” she asks with genuine interest, and the thin line Beca’s lips pull into does not seem to act as the deterrent she had silently hoped it would.

Chloe simply watches her expectantly, and Beca cannot help but find that she _wants_ to give her what she wants. She really does not understand why or what it is about this woman, but whatever it is, there is _something_ , something weird and almost otherworldly, something that Beca is trying hard not to question.

“Uh, grandmother again,” Beca finally relents, lips twisting slightly as she recalls the events she has tried so hard to push down, to ignore them out of existence.

Although she is not necessarily looking at Chloe, she does allow herself a brief glance toward her, and takes note of the softened expression on Chloe’s face. In spite of it, she also notes that Chloe does not urge her to stop; instead, she seems to be listening, _really_ listening, and it fills Beca with an odd sensation that renders her strangely comfortable enough to go on.

“I moved to LA after college to try to make it as a singer. I actually signed with this small label, but then my grandmother got sick, uh…” she pauses in thought, “six years ago, I think? I don’t know. Anyway, she kind of raised me, so I wasn’t going to leave her to take care of herself, you know? I mean, I was happy to do it, it wasn’t like I felt like I _had to_ or anything.” Beca can hear herself rambling, she can hear her own words echoing awkwardly into the space around them. This is a difficult subject for her, though, so she is sure she can be forgiven. Chloe doesn’t seem to be pushing her, anyway. “She fought like a champion for three years,” Beca chuckles quietly, “I mean, seriously, there was no bigger badass than that woman. But then she got worse, and… Well, you know the rest of it.” Beca shrugs, finally moving her gaze toward Chloe. “It kind of felt too late then, you know? So I just…I don’t know, didn’t go back.”

There is something about Chloe’s patience as Beca tells her story, something that feels so much more natural than the way she had snapped upon first entering the elevator, that tells Beca this is the _real_ Chloe. The woman seated across from her with the soft, understanding expression, oozing unparalleled levels of compassion, that is Chloe Beale. Beca is sure of it.

“That’s a lot,” Chloe finally comments, offering Beca a small yet genuine smile in the process. “I bet your grandmother was so grateful to have you, though. And not just when she was sick.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Beca agrees with a brief nod of her head. “Gram was my biggest fan, she was always telling me to, in her words, ‘pack your bags and get the fuck back to Los Angeles, Rebeca,’” she chuckles at the memory, and the soft sound of Chloe’s quiet laugh floats through the air between them, too.

“Well, she sounds pretty awesome,” Chloe grins, stretching out a leg to gently nudge Beca’s sneaker-covered foot with the toe of her black high heel. Beca only chuckles again in response, and wonders why she can feel her pale cheeks heating up slightly in reaction to such a simple touch. “You look like a Rebeca,” Chloe adds.

“I don’t feel like one,” Beca frowns, nose wrinkling in something akin to disgust. “It’s just Beca.”

It is not lost on her, the fact that she has just put out her entire dark backstory, something she doesn’t even talk about with her friends, before even informing Chloe of her name. Perhaps it speaks to the strange connection Beca feels between them, the one she is still actively attempting to avoid. Again, it is simply a weird manifestation of her lingering sadness, Beca is sure of it.

“Beca,” Chloe echoes thoughtfully, as if testing the name on her tongue. She nods shortly then, “Beca it is. I’m Chloe.”

“Yeah, I heard you on the phone before,” Beca motions toward the useless device fixed to the wall.

“Oh, right,” Chloe nods again, and the look to twist onto her face seems to convey the fact that the phone has reminded her of their current situation. In response, that earlier panic makes another brief appearance. “Do you think someone is going to find us soon?”

“Yeah, of course,” Beca says with an air of feigned confidence. She adds in a sure nod of her head for good measure. “Definitely. People use this elevator all day, someone will have gone to call it and realized it wasn’t working. They’re probably sending someone out already.”

“I hope so,” Chloe frowns, and allows a small sigh to puff free from her nostrils.

Beca doesn’t particularly _mean_ to study her, doesn’t mean to watch her as intently as she is. But as Chloe stares defeatedly into her lap, Beca finds herself watching her subtle movements. She drinks in the neat ringlet curls in her red hair, a color Beca can tell is beautifully natural. Her wandering gaze falls to Chloe’s lap, to the way one arm rests comfortably in the dip in the fabric of her dress where her thighs meet, while the other hand fidgets with a small beaded bracelet wrapped around her wrist.

She doesn’t realize that, every time Beca’s attention is trained elsewhere, Chloe is unabashedly studying her in the exact same way.

“What’s that?” Beca asks into the comfortable silence. Chloe glances toward her, so Beca motions toward the bracelet.

“Oh!” Chloe perks up at that, fingers slipping beneath the elastic string holding together the brightly colored beads. “This is my lucky bracelet,” she states proudly, gently slipping it off of her wrist to offer out toward Beca. Instinctively, Beca leans forward to accept the small, evidently handmade jewelry. “My students made it for me. They said that if I wore it for all of my performances, it’d be like they were right there with me, cheering me on.” She smiles fondly at her own explanation, and Beca finds herself doing the same.

“That’s cute,” Beca comments, holding up the bracelet to study its detail in the dim elevator lighting. It has very obviously been crafted by young children, but it’s still pretty cool, all the same. Carefully, she tosses it toward Chloe’s open hands. It lands in her lap, but that seems to be good enough, so Chloe leaves it there for now. “They must really believe in you.”

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees with a soft smile and a small nod of her head, “I think they do.” She pauses then, and that earlier frown wrinkles onto her pale features once again. “Ugh, I really hope I get to sing tonight.”

“You will,” Beca promises, as if it is simply a sure thing. Chloe seems to appreciate the confidence, though the smile she shoots Beca in return is kind of a sad one, and Beca’s heart twitches in a way that she has never experienced before in response to something as simple as a look. In an effort to lift Chloe’s spirits, she adds, “Maybe you could sing for me? Warm yourself up for your performance.”

Chloe chuckles at that. “Uhh, pass. I’m a backup singer. You’re the one with the record contract, maybe you should do the singing.”

“I’m not the one about to perform at Times Square on New Year’s Eve,” Beca points out, though there is something of a small smirk twisting onto the corners of her mouth in response to Chloe’s effort.

“True,” Chloe agrees, before something of a devilish smirk seems to rise to her lips, too. “But I’m still a backup singer. Maybe you could sing something, and I could back you up.”

“Not gonna happen,” Beca chuckles dryly, head shaking in amusement. However, she makes the mistake of lifting her gaze toward Chloe, and takes in the emphasized pout on her painted lips. With a wrinkle of her nose, Beca eventually tips her head back against the bars, and finds herself easily relenting. “What do you want me to sing?”

She hears the triumph lacing Chloe’s tone after a brief pause, in which she assumes Chloe is trying to think of a good song. “Do you know Titanium?”

“David Guetta?” Beca asks, straightening her head to glance toward Chloe. Chloe nods, and Beca gently shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, I know it.”

“Great,” Chloe grins, and Beca cannot help but almost fondly roll her eyes. “Then you start singing, and I’ll jump in and back you up.”

Beca knows that she has a good voice, she knows that she can sing. It is rare that she does it in front of anyone these days, though. She used to sing all the time for her grandmother, and now for the cat she reluctantly inherited from her, but she certainly does not casually perform for strangers in elevators. The realization that, for some reason, she cannot seem to say no to Chloe has her softly chuckling at her own pathetic resolve.

“I cannot believe you’re about to make me do this,” she groans somewhat petulantly, and Chloe only continues to grin, so Beca pushes herself a little straighter in her spot, quietly clearing her throat in the process.

She pauses to think over the song, to place the opening line in her head, then begins before she has the chance to mentally talk herself out of it.

_“You shout it out, but I can’t hear a word you say...”_

Immediately, Beca feels her cheeks heating up, and cannot resist a quick glance toward Chloe, who is watching her with expectant, widened eyes. Her expression wordlessly tells her to go on, so Beca bites back a nervous smile.

_“I’m talking loud, not saying much  
_ _I’m criticized, but all your bullets ricochet  
_ _Shoot me down, but I get up…”_

It does not pass her by, the fact that Chloe has not yet joined in, so Beca shoots her a look before moving onto the next line.

_“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose,”_

She pauses then, brows lifting to urge Chloe to join in, too. In a higher pitch than Beca, she eventually does, until they are harmonizing the next part in what Beca would quietly consider near perfect pitch.

_“Fire away, fire away  
_ _Ricochet, you take your aim  
_ _Fire away, fire away  
_ _Shoot me down, but I won’t fall  
_ _I am titanium  
_ _Shoot me down, but I won’t fall  
_ _I am titanium.”_

Mutually, they seem to silently deem that a good point to stop, and Beca doesn’t even realize how hard she is smiling until she notices her own expression mirrored back to her on Chloe’s face.

“Wow,” Chloe finally comments, blue eyes glistening excitedly in approval. “I think the wrong one of us is performing tonight.”

“What?” Beca chuckles, lifting a hand to push a fallen chunk of brunette hair behind her ear. “Dude, no, you sounded awesome. You’re totally going to upstage Emily Junk.”

“I doubt that,” Chloe says with a fond roll of her eyes, the angelic sound of her soft chuckle becoming something of a familiarity to Beca already. “Your voice is incredible, though, Beca. I know you said you feel like it’s too late to do all of that now, but seriously, the world is definitely missing out.”

“Sure they are,” Beca responds with an amused shake of her head. She has made her peace with failure now—she thinks she has made her peace with it, anyway.

Although Chloe shoots her something of a playful glare, Beca is grateful for the fact that she does not continue to push. Instead, she turns her attention toward the bag placed down beside Beca, then motions to it with her head. “Did you ever like New Year’s Eve?”

“Sure,” Beca says with a small shrug of her shoulders. “I mean, it got kind of tainted after everything, but it wasn’t always like that.”

Chloe only nods along slowly, before pressing her palm down onto the less than clean floor behind her, then proceeds to use the leverage to push herself to her feet. “Maybe it’s time we got you to like it again.”

“Oh yeah?” Beca questions, head tilting as she watches Chloe in mild amusement. Despite the fact that she had been sitting on her jacket, Chloe dusts off the back of her dress, before breezing toward the trash bag beside Beca. She has already begun to paw through it before Beca can stop her, but a part of her also doesn’t even want to. “And how do you propose we do that?”

There is something of a knowing glimmer to Chloe’s eyes as she unravels a long, crumpled gold banner from inside of the bag. “We decorate our elevator.”

“ _Our_ elevator, huh?” Beca chuckles, though she does not protest. In fact, she willingly accepts the banner as Chloe presses it into her arms, and even finds herself holding it outward to read the glittery _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_ letters scrawled in the center.

“Yes,” Chloe nods, arm outstretching to point toward the opposite wall. Her other hand is still inside of the trash bag, fishing around for anything else not yet crumpled enough that it is still salvageable. “Hang that up over there, okay?”

Despite the incredulous look Beca gives her at first, she eventually pushes herself to her feet to dutifully follow Chloe’s orders, and soon the dingy elevator is decked out in loud, sparkly New Year’s Eve banners and decorations. Only hours ago, Beca would have rather died than seen such a display, but she realizes that she doesn’t hate it quite so much right now. She silently notes that her feelings are very much the opposite, in fact.

“Not too shabby,” Beca states as she takes a step back toward her previous corner, arms folding over her middle and impressed gaze taking in their quick decorative efforts.

“I think it’s perfect,” Chloe beams proudly, bright gaze drifting to meet with Beca’s from the opposite corner.

“Shame it’s not an actual party,” Beca comments, though she immediately notices the look to flash through Chloe’s eyes, the way they wordlessly tell her, _‘Don’t be so sure.’_

“It is,” Chloe nods her head adamantly, and Beca only looks at her with raised brows and an expression filled with fond amusement. She watches the way Chloe looks briefly around for a moment, before proceeding in a quieter, almost more secretive voice. “It’s a random party, it’s thrown by friends of friends, and we were both coincidentally invited.” Evidently, Chloe has an active imagination, something Beca assumes is probably pretty much a necessity for a person who works (or worked, in Chloe’s case) with small children. She humors her as she goes on. “The countdown is just about to start, and you’re feeling kind of lonely. You don’t really know anybody other than the person who invited you, and they ditched forever ago to go make out with someone they’ll probably go home with after the ball drops.”

“Why didn’t I meet anyone?” Beca interrupts with an arched brow and a look of feigned offense as she stares Chloe’s way, though there is a playful expression on her face all the same. Her amusement only grows as she sees the quick scowl Chloe shoots toward her in return.

“You just didn’t, stop ruining it.”

“Okay, okay,” Beca chuckles quietly, hands held up in a display of cooperation. “Sorry. Go on.”

Chloe hums to herself as she begins to breeze from her spot in the corner, slowly making her way around her own side of the elevator. “Everyone starts counting down. They’re all paired off, and you’re just standing there, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re not going to get a New Year’s kiss.”

“The horror,” Beca teases, and Chloe chuckles this time, too. She glares again, of course, but it is decidedly much less heated now.

“There’s a gap in the crowd of coupled off people,” Chloe continues, pausing in her current spot. “You look through it, and you see this girl in a red dress.” In accordance with the story, she reaches to clutch gently at the skirt of her dress, and Beca smirks at the distinct lack of subtlety. “She’s on her own, too. And she’s looking at you. You don’t know it, but she thinks you’re really pretty… She’s been thinking it all night, in fact.”

Beca cannot be sure, but beneath Chloe’s mischievous expression and the dim lighting of the elevator, she thinks she can see her previously pale cheeks beginning to darken a shade. She is positive her own are doing the same, but Beca chooses to ignore that. She is much too invested in Chloe’s story, in the scene she is so vividly painting, and in the way she sees Chloe beginning to slowly approach. It isn’t even intentional, the fact that Beca begins to do the same, too.

“Where are they in the countdown?” Beca asks with a subtly arched brow. She ignores the way her palms have begun to sweat the closer she and Chloe eventually move toward each other. And it is uncharacteristic of Beca to not retreat, to not obnoxiously laugh, pat Chloe on the shoulder and comment on her wild imagination. But she doesn’t. Instead, she continues to comply, to move closer to the girl in the red dress with the mesmerizing eyes, and does so without the fear she knows she should really be feeling.

“Five,” Chloe responds, pausing once she has moved so close to Beca that there is barely a gap between them now. Much more surprisingly, Beca does the same.

“She thinks you’re even prettier up close,” Chloe says in a softer voice, though adds before Beca even gets the chance to respond, “Four.”

Beca’s cheeks suck inward in a half-assed attempt to bite back her blush, but she knows that it is pointless. It has leaked toward the tips of her ears by now, one of which becomes visible as Chloe reaches out a hand to daintily tuck a brunette chunk behind it.

“Three,” Chloe says a little more quietly this time, and Beca finds herself effortlessly holding her gaze. That has always been difficult for Beca, she has always struggled with personal space, with connecting so strongly with another person in such an intimate way that _eye contact_ represents to her, but she finds that it is so much easier now. Effortless, in fact. “Two.”

It doesn’t matter that her heart is pounding so hard that it may very well break free from her body in a second, as Chloe begins to lean in in time for that final number, Beca does not move away. In fact, she finds herself stretching upward, and welcomes the anticipated feeling of Chloe’s lips against her own.

Only, it doesn’t come.

Instead, in place of the soft kiss Beca had prepared herself for, the box around them jerks almost violently, until the mechanism begins to churn, and suddenly they have begun their original descent once again.

“Oh, my God!” Chloe exclaims, instinctively jumping back and toward her belongings. Quickly, she scrambles through her purse to eventually pull out her phone, and her eyes fill with a new level of excitement as her wide gaze scans her screen. “I think I’m gonna have time to get to Times Square.”

“Yeah?” Beca questions with a quick cough in an attempt to put some moisture back into her now incredibly dry throat. Her arms instinctively fold across her middle as she retreats from the center of the elevator and back toward her safe corner again, and she tries hard to ignore the disappointment to crash through her in response to their interrupted almost-moment. “That’s awesome! I told you you would.”

“You did,” Chloe grins excitedly, shrugging on her jacket and swinging the strap of her purse over her body just in time for the elevator to finally reach its destination.

As the doors eventually slide slowly open, Beca glances beyond Chloe to see that the outside world has now become veiled by a thick blanket of darkness throughout their time together. She wonders how long they have actually been here, and feels almost pathetic when she realizes it cannot be more than a couple of hours, yet Chloe has somehow managed to draw her in so completely in such a short amount of time.

“Thank you!” Chloe yelps as the workman stares at the two of them apologetically. It seems to surprise him as long arms fling around his neck, though he awkwardly responds with a small pat to Chloe’s lower back, before she is quickly stepping away.

Beca is left to simply stare, and finds herself wondering if Chloe is about to just dart out of there without so much as saying goodbye.

She doesn’t, of course.

Whirling around on the spot, Chloe fixes Beca with a bright smile. “I really have to go,” she says, her expression falling to something a little more sympathetic this time. “But you really were an amazing elevator companion, Beca.” Her hands lift to settle against Beca’s upper arms, and Beca ignores the way her skin prickles beneath the feeling, even through the fabric of her sweatshirt. “If I had to be stuck in there with anyone, I’m really glad that it was you.”

Beca cannot help but puff out a small chuckle at that, cheeks heating up slightly once more. “Yeah, likewise,” she agrees, though motions toward the lobby doors, as much as a part of her _really_ does not want Chloe to leave. “Dude, you should get out of here. Big New Year’s performance, remember?”

“Right,” Chloe nods, fingertips gently squeezing against Beca’s arms where they sit, before she finally lets go. Beca ignores the empty feeling they leave behind. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you later,” Chloe says as she begins to step backward and toward the door. She pauses briefly, though. “Oh, and thank you for singing with me. You should definitely think about picking that back up again.”

“Noted,” Beca says through a small chuckle, though motions toward the door with her hand, as if to wave Chloe right out of it. “Good luck, Chloe.”

The small, nervous smile Chloe shoots her way wordlessly thanks her, and Beca is left to simply watch the mysterious redhead to have so easily captured her attention today as she begins to disappear through the door. The attendant looks at her almost knowingly, but Beca chooses to ignore him as she takes a small step back and into the elevator again. Her gaze drops instinctively, though, the sight of brightly colored beads quickly catching her eye.

“Oh, wait!” Beca calls, leaning down to retrieve Chloe’s lucky bracelet. It had evidently fallen from her lap when she’d stood for them to decorate earlier. She sticks one hand through the gap in the closing door, “You forgot your—”

It doesn’t matter, she realizes as her gaze lifts upward; Chloe is already gone.

* * *

It really is not lost on Beca, just how pathetic it is that she is rushing through the busy subway station dressed in pajama pants and a mismatched sweatshirt, all for the sake of returning a homemade bracelet to someone that had been a total stranger to her only this morning.

(Then again, for the New York City subway, modest pajamas are a tame sight really.)

As always, though even more so on New Year’s Eve, Times Square is packed so tightly that Beca finds it hard to maneuver her way through the large crowds of people. For once in her life, she finds that she is grateful for her small size; it aids her some in weaving through the smaller spaces in pursuit of the stage, where she presumes she will find—

“Beca?”

Considering how loud the whole area is already, Beca almost wonders if she is hearing things when the sound of her name floats toward her ear, but she turns on the spot regardless, gaze landing immediately on Chloe Beale. Instantly, her heart begins to flutter, and Beca realizes, again, just how pathetic she is being tonight.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe asks in something akin to disbelief as she squeezes into the gap beside her.

“Oh, uh,” Beca shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, hand digging into the shallow pocket of her pajama pants to pull out the colorfully beaded bracelet. “You left your bracelet behind,” she explains, and hearing it aloud has a part of her almost ready to shrink into the ground.

Chloe, however, looks at her in a way that Beca would imagine a person to look at royalty. She feels incredibly undeserving of the dreamy glint in Chloe’s eyes, and instinctively lifts her free hand to awkwardly rub at the back of her neck. “Uh, you said it was lucky, so I figured…” Beca trails off with a soft shrug.

“Yeah, it is,” Chloe nods, hand reaching out to cup long fingers around the homemade jewelry. “I can’t believe you came all the way out here to bring me this.” She pauses, gaze sweeping over Beca’s attire, before she adds with a melodic giggle, “And in your pajamas.”

“Yeah, well,” Beca says with an embarrassed chuckle, fingers brushing against Chloe’s as she releases the light hold she has on the bracelet.

It seems that Chloe has other ideas, though, because as Beca goes to pull her hand away, she feels long fingers wrapping around her own, until Chloe is cupping Beca’s hand tightly, and Beca instinctively sucks in her blushing cheeks. Chloe pauses then to stare at Beca momentarily, to perhaps read the situation, before she eventually uses the hold she has on her hand to gently tug her closer, until Beca feels soft lips pushing delicately to the apple of her cheek. It is not the kiss Beca had been hoping for back in the elevator, but it is kind of perfect for this particular moment, and Beca’s eyes happily flutter shut beneath the feeling.

As Chloe pulls back to straighten again, Beca does the same. Her eyes open to take in the way Chloe’s pearly teeth are sinking gently into her bottom lip, and Beca is sure the bashful expression is mirrored right back at her from Beca’s face, too.

“Beca, that’s the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me, you know that?” Chloe says in a soft voice, though loud enough for Beca to hear her over the crowds. Then again, as pathetic as it is, the other people around them have kind of faded away to Beca at this point; she kind of just sees Chloe.

“I just didn’t want you to have to perform without it,” Beca says with as nonchalant a shrug as she can manage while still internally screaming in response to something as simple as a small kiss to her rosy cheek.

Chloe’s face falls at that. “Uh, right. About that…” she winces slightly, and Beca looks at her with furrowed brows. “I had a bunch of missed calls once I had service again, Emily’s stuck somewhere, she’s not gonna make it here in time for the performance.” Chloe frowns, nose wrinkling in a way that Beca silently refers to as adorable. “It’s fine for the other stuff, they’ll probably just play some recorded music and have us hype up the crowd. But everyone’s kind of freaking out about how there’s no one to sing Auld Lang Syne at midnight, I think that’s where the biggest problem is.”

Beca’s brows raise at that. “Oh, shit, yeah, that song’s a bitch to sing.”

Chloe’s head tips slightly, eyes narrowing in curiously on Beca’s face. “You know it?”

“The New Year’s song? Yeah,” Beca responds with a short nod of her head and a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Well, yeah, but do you know all of the words?” Chloe questions, and Beca’s brow quirks in response to her evident surprise.

“Yeah, sure. Gram and I used to sing it every New Year.”

A little lost in fond memories, Beca doesn’t even notice the look of sheer joy overtaking Chloe’s brightened features, not until she blurts excitedly, “Beca, you should sing it!”

Immediately, Beca recoils with a loud, high-pitched laugh. “What?”

“I’m serious!” Chloe presses, shuffling a little closer toward Beca. Beca hadn’t noticed it before, but their hands are still connected, and she feels the pad of Chloe’s thumb moving in a comforting circular motion over the back of her knuckles. It registers to her now that she has been doing it the whole time, in fact. “Someone has to sing at midnight, and the other singers here… Well, we’re all better at backup stuff. But your voice is… Beca, you have to do this.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Beca says with that same incredulous laugh, though her words are a little squeakier this time, because there is something so damn serious to Chloe’s request—demand? Honestly, Beca is not entirely sure what it is, she just knows that it is entirely insane—that it fills Beca with an immeasurable sense of fear.

“You know that you can sing. You were literally signed by a record label,” Chloe urges, as if this is not the most ridiculous idea in the world, as if she is simply asking her to keep an eye on her pet for an hour while she runs out to grab groceries from the nearby store.

“They don’t have a second performer for this kind of thing?” Beca questions in something of a desperate tone this time, mostly because Chloe is not backing down, and Beca remembers clearly what happened the last time she’d urged her to sing.

“No,” Chloe shakes her head, “Emily was supposed to be a sure thing.”

“Well, they should!” Beca squeaks, the panic in her tone very much evident on her face now, too.

Later, she will probably find it funny, the way the tables have turned so dramatically. This afternoon, when the elevator had first cut out, Chloe was the one in a terrified flurry while Beca stayed uncharacteristically calm. It is very much the other way around now, as Chloe releases Beca’s hand to instead gently grasp at her upper arms, the same way she had outside of the elevator only an hour before.

Right now, of course, there is absolutely nothing funny about this.

“I know,” Chloe agrees, fingertips brushing soothingly over Beca’s arms through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt. “But they didn’t. And you don’t have to do this, Bec. But there are a lot of people here, a lot of important people. This could…” she trails off, teeth sinking into her bottom lip again. “Maybe you think it’s too late, but you deserve to be noticed again. This could be it, you know? This could be what gets you noticed.”

Chloe’s words ring through her ears, and Beca wants to shake her head, wants to flat out protest and tell her once again that she is completely crazy. However, for some reason, she doesn’t. She doesn’t shake herself from Chloe’s hold and immediately bolt in the opposite direction, doesn’t scream about how Chloe has evidently lost her damn mind. Instead, she simply stares at her with wide, scared eyes, and doesn’t understand how, even faced with this kind of terrifying situation, something as simple as Chloe’s bright, awe-filled gaze somehow manages to calm her beyond reason, to the point where Beca finds herself almost relenting.

_Almost_.

“No, I can’t,” she shakes her head, though there is much less conviction to her protest this time. “I mean,” Beca pauses to glance down toward her outfit, “I’m wearing pajamas. I can’t perform at Times Square on New Year’s Eve for all of these people...in pajamas.”

It doesn’t matter that Chloe evidently attempts to bite back her amused smile in response, because Beca can so clearly see it fighting its way forward. She can see it in her eyes, in the way they crinkle at the corners, how they glisten in a way that makes Beca quietly melt.

“We can switch,” Chloe promises, “You’re a little shorter than me, but this will still look great on you.”

“Oh, and you’re gonna perform in pajamas,” Beca scoffs sarcastically, though even she can hear her resolve softening further by the second.

“Better the backup than the main performer,” Chloe chuckles quietly.

Beca pauses then. She pauses to think for a long moment, and despite the expectant look in her eyes, Chloe does not push any further. She just waits it out, waits for Beca to mull over her options in her mind, to give herself a mental pep talk, before Beca’s shoulders eventually fall.

“Are they even gonna let some nobody do this?” Beca questions with a small frown.

Chloe responds with a nod of her head. “Honestly, I think they’re pretty desperate. They were talking about just plucking someone from the crowd. We could go and talk to Stacie, she’s the person in charge of this whole thing tonight. You could sing for her and show her.”

Although Beca doesn’t respond right away, and proceeds to eye Chloe skeptically for a long moment, she evidently outwardly relents enough that Chloe’s lips turn up into an excited grin, and Beca tips her head back as Chloe lets go of her arms to instead reconnect their hands. “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” Beca whines petulantly, but does not protest further, and instead allows Chloe to drag her toward the main stage area, with Beca’s feet begrudgingly carrying her along behind.

* * *

This cannot be happening. This whole day, in fact, is like something from a movie—a really fucking cheesy, sickening movie, too. Firstly, she’d managed to get trapped inside of an elevator, the same elevator she uses every single day without so much as a slight hint of a problem, with a woman Beca is positive was plucked right out of one of her wildest dreams, and now _this_?

It really cannot be real, and Beca is almost certain she is dreaming as Chloe tugs her toward a taller woman who seems much too calm to say she is out of a lead performer on New Year’s Eve, and explains that Beca will fill in. She is surprised this Stacie person even entertains the idea, and Beca doesn’t know how she even makes it through the brief ‘audition’ she does, but apparently it must go well, because Chloe watches her with a bright, dreamy grin, and Stacie seems incredibly impressed, too.

Fortunately (for Chloe, at least), there are spare outfits stored backstage—Beca ignores the urge she has to comment on how they have spare outfits but no spare performers—so they do not have to switch clothes, and soon Beca is being fastened into a sparkly gold and silver dress, paired with a gold jacket in the same style as Chloe’s black one. The flustered haste that is her last minute outfit change serves as a nice distraction for Beca, but by the time she is ready, and the big midnight moment has begun to rapidly approach, she is right back to feeling as though she could absolutely throw up at any given moment.

Beca realizes she could _really_ use a pep talk right now, preferably not just a mental one from herself, but like Chloe had predicted before, the backup singers have already been ushered onto the stage, where they have begun to hype up the crowd and sing along to recorded upbeat tracks. In spite of herself, in spite of her nerves and the fact that she should really be freaking out right now, Beca watches Chloe from the stage-side steps in something akin to awe.

There is something so captivating about Chloe’s entire presence. Her confidence shines as she belts out the words with the two other backup singers, and Beca cannot help but take in the beautiful, ethereal sight of her beneath the bright performance lighting. Chloe really is gorgeous, and despite the fact that, realistically, Beca had only even met her a matter of hours ago, there is a distinct pull to her that has Beca feeling like she has known her her entire life.

“Okay, ready to get up there?” Beca hears an unfamiliar voice preceding a gentle nudge to her shoulder. It breaks into her thoughts, and she glances upward to see Stacie fixing her with an expectant stare.

“What, now?” Beca squeaks nervously, and Stacie pins her with a lifted brow and an evidently amused expression.

“You don’t hear them counting down? Song starts right after they call ‘one’,” Stacie says, and Beca finds herself shocked to finally register the loud sound of New York City counting down around her. How, she thinks, is it even possible that she was so lost in her own world, so lost in _Chloe_ , that she hadn’t even heard such an obnoxiously loud sound? She doesn’t have the time to question that further, however, to unpack it like she really wants to, because Stacie is pressing a hand to her lower back, then beginning to push her up the steps. “Go on. You’re gonna be great. Go sing us into the New Year.”

“Right,” Beca nods, though she doesn’t really know how she is still upright. She doesn’t know how her feet are even moving, even less so as she cautiously steps from the top stair and onto the smooth surface of the stage. She can see the crowd from the corner of her eye, feel her heart beating so hard that she is positive it is about to break free from her chest any moment now, but her main focus is on Chloe, who stands behind her microphone beside the other backup singers, counting down with the rest of the city.

Her eyes, bright and excited, are trained on Beca, too.

The crowd is so _loud_ , so frighteningly loud, but Beca finds that she can ignore it somehow. In the interest of actually making herself do this, of not letting down Chloe, the woman she had not even known existed this time yesterday, but that has apparently filled her with enough confidence to sing for a packed out Times Square on fucking _New Year’s Eve_ , Beca can ignore it.

Despite the fact that she is visibly shaking as she steps up to the center stage microphone, as the crowd yells out _one!_ before erupting into a chorus of cheering and applause, Beca somehow manages to find it in her to reach out a hand to clasp steadily around the microphone, and suddenly the sound of her own voice fills her ears.

_“Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
_ _And never brought to mind?_  
_Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
_ _And auld lang syne?”_

With her eyes closing, it is surprisingly easy for Beca to drown out the loud sound of the crowd, though she notes that they begin to quieten to curiously take in her performance.

She has no idea that she is all Chloe hears, too.

How Beca makes it through the entire performance, she truly does not know. Then again, she doesn’t know how she even managed to make it up to the stage without shrinking in on herself, so she supposes it is only fair that her body allows her to get through the rest of it, too.

Of course, she can barely feel her legs by the time she is done and the crowd have erupted into a new series of loud _woops_ and screamed cheers, but Beca responds with a modest bow of her head and a nervous yet natural smile that she simply cannot hope to hold back, before backing away from the microphone and turning toward the stairs. The onstage band picks up with something more upbeat then, and Beca barely even registers her surroundings until she is practically falling into Chloe’s open arms.

“Oh, my God, Beca, you were _amazing_!” Chloe squeals excitedly, arms flinging tightly around Beca’s neck.

Beca is still floating, still trying to come down from the high that is a last minute performance for the entirety of New York City—a fucking _televized_ performance at that—so she stiffens briefly, but there is something incredibly sobering about the feeling of Chloe’s body so close to her, of the way Beca can feel Chloe’s heart beating so rapidly in sync with her own.

Perhaps it is the adrenaline that does it, the high she is still (and presumably will be for the foreseeable future) riding that allows her to wriggle free from Chloe’s embrace. Chloe gets only a brief second of confused staring, before Beca is lifting her hands to delicately clutch at rosy cheeks, and then she is leaning forward to crash her lips against Chloe’s in a sure, confident way that is so decidedly _not_ Beca Mitchell, but taking the last little while into account, she figures today is all about surprising herself.

It is Chloe’s turn to stiffen now, though she relaxes almost instantaneously, and soon Beca feels long arms winding around her middle, until Chloe has begun to gently tip her back almost movie style, and Beca’s lips curve upward into the kiss.

Although they finally part, they remain in the same position—Beca dipped with Chloe’s protective arms around her, and Beca’s fingertips brushing against the warm skin of Chloe’s cheeks—and Beca smiles almost bashfully up at the bright, awestruck eyes currently drinking her in. “I can’t believe you made me do that,” she says in a soft voice, though the smile on her face is difficult to bite back.

“I can’t believe you did it,” Chloe giggles in response, though tilts her face to push another soft peck to Beca’s lips, and Beca easily returns it.

“Man, today was...really fucking weird, right?” Beca puffs out a small chuckle, hand sliding against Chloe’s cheek to instead brush a fiery curl behind the smooth shell of her ear.

“Very,” Chloe agrees with a gentle nod of her head, and Beca takes note of the way Chloe’s gaze briefly drops to her lips. She adds just in time for Beca to arch her head in pursuit of closing the gap between them again, “How are we gonna beat it next year?”

God, Beca thinks as her lips fuse so naturally together with Chloe’s, as strong hands pull her body more tightly into her own in a way that far surpasses her expectations of their almost-kiss in the elevator, if this is how life _starts_ with Chloe Beale, how much crazier can it really get?

All things considered, of course, Beca has a feeling that this is only the tip of the iceberg.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thank you so much for reading! You can find me [right here](http://chloebeale.tumblr.com). Happy New Year!


End file.
